If you follow Joe Carnahan on social media you'll be aware of a couple of things.

The first is that he has created a production company with his pal, Frank Grillo, called War Party. The aim of War Party is to produce a couple films a year, all budgeted under $20-million as well as co-producing here and there when the urge strikes them.

War Party's first film, the Netflix owned Grillo-starring WHEELMAN, saw great success both on the digital platform as well as during its sold-out run at Cannes that year.

The second thing you'll probably be aware of when it comes to Carnahan and his Instagram-blogging, is that War Party's latest feature, EL CHICANO, just dropped and he's really excited about it. Like REALLY excited about it.

Should we be so excited? Yes. And no. Set in the heart of the LA drug cartel wars it sees suave and charismatic detective Diego Hernandez (Raul Castillo) investigating the latest drug war mass-murder in a warehouse. The more he digs into the case the more truth he uncovers about the death of his wayward twin brother (also played by Castillo). Compound Hernandez's newfound concerns with a new partner he doesn't like and the legend of the 'ghetto grim reaper' the titular El Chicano, a Hispanic superhero vigilante figure, and you have all the ingredients you need to make a dementedly violent, pseudo-superhero gang warfare feature.

​Based on a muscular script that Carnahan co-scribed with EL CHICANO's debut feature director Ben Bray, this is the kind of territory Carnahan does really well in. Well, most of the time. For every NARC that Carnahan pens, there's a PRIDE AND GLORY that ever-so-slightly misses the mark. And for every THE GREY there's a DEATH WISH that just scrapes through.

EL CHICANO is essentially a super-hero origin story with a thundering motorbike instead of a Batmobile and hoodie replacing a cowl, which is fine but we really miss Carnahan's original streak. Like that french behemoth Luc Besson, Carnahan seems to keep all his best scripts for himself and dishes the rest out to others.​It's a sturdy enough film, for sure. It's fast, head-smackingly violent, has a relatively efficient script and it does hold a couple of surprises up it's sleeve (one of the most entertaining being George Lopez ditching the yucks and playing a serious role as the police captain). Add to that director Bray's (very) slick visuals and you have all the ingredients for an entertaining diversion.​

IT: CHAPTER TWO suggests to me that Stephen King's 1986 novel is impossible to adapt for the screen. Its themes and events are too complex and controversial to survive the transition of mediums and those things which unfold effectively on the page are simply too fantastical and silly to be told properly on film.

The 1990 television miniseries adaptation made all of the right amendments and understood well what things do and do not play viscerally, and aside from its overly ambitious – and ultimately poor – finale, that small-screen film remains iconic and thoroughly effective. Of course, again, the shonky conclusion diminishes many of its positive attributes and gave reason for fans to be excited about the 2017 film from director Andrés Andy Muschietti (Mama).​

​Arriving with anticipation Muschietti's new adaptation was a relatively faithful retelling of King's original story, and with the setting brought forward by 30-years it cashed in on the popular wave of 80's nostalgia. It served as the first chapter – The Losers Club – and told the story of seven young teenagers who were terrorised by an evil entity in the guise of a carnival clown. Aside from a few glaring liberties the film adhered to the original novel and proved to be a compelling coming-of-age drama married with suspense and horror.

IT: CHAPTER TWO picks up 27 years later, just like the second half of King's novel and the TV movie, and reunites the Losers Club as adults. Their memories of their childhood are vague and as the entity resumes its feeding on innocent children, recollections of their trauma return with it. Maintaining the same level of production value and overall aesthetic, this second-part successfully binds itself to the previous film. Sadly, the praise ends there because this concluding instalment serves as a bloated, nonsensical and ridiculously gratuitous exercise in ignorance, arrogance and disrespect.​The movie opens with a particularly horrific moment lifted directly from King's book, whereby a gay man is brutally bashed and thrown from a bridge. In today's progressive society this moment might sound relevant in a social-commentary sense, and yet it has no purpose. As originally written by King, this incident provided context and an ongoing narrative, which wove its way through the course of the first act, however on film it happens for no apparent reason and context be damned. From this moment on nothing about IT: CHAPTER TWO feels right. There is no cohesion or fluency, and with the entire film weaving in and out of flashback sequences it hits the screen like a stale funnel cake.

​It must be said that the ensemble cast is very good, with Jessica Chastain, James McAvoy and Bill Hader leading their troupe of consummate players. The likeness to their younger counterparts is uncanny and credit must be given to the casting department for providing the film its only clear moment of integrity, for the calibre of talent amongst this cast is wasted and trod upon by the convoluted script, lack of vision and the hideous abundance of computer generated imagery.

Mainstream horror has changed over the years and has come to a point where filmmakers either don't understand what scares people OR audiences think that non-stop action amounts to terror. Either way there is a genuine lack of horror in this instalment, and whatever tropes returning director Andy Muschietti chose to exploit, he misses the mark on just about every one of them.

The working title for Chapter Two was “Pennywise” and it makes sense that the studio dropped that moniker considering how little time he's represented on screen. I personally never found this new depiction of King's evil clown to be scary, and the more monstrous they made him, the less terrifying he was (for my money the truly scary clowns are those without exaggeration). And so you can imagine how fatigued I became when the little screen time Pennywise had in this film was smeared with CGI thicker than Vaseline... there's so much stupid computer contortion and manipulation at play here that everyone forgot about suspense.

​As mentioned earlier the achilles heel of the 1990 adaptation was the poorly executed finale, yet fans will attest to the rest of that film. It was this one major blemish which gave us reason to be excited about an all new adaptation, because with all of the advancements in technology filmmakers finally had the means to recreate King's ambitious confrontation. I'm sorry to report that they failed. They failed on an epic scale. They failed monumentally. They failed conceptually. They failed practically. They failed visual effectively. The finale of IT: CHAPTER TWO is what I would call a hot mess... or more bluntly, a cluster fuck! And the worst part? The dialogue blatantly notes McAvoy's author character being unable to write a good ending. Talk about a self-referential wank. Oy Vay!​I hated this film!!! And I hate that it sucks so much that there's absolutely no reason to revisit the first chapter. Thank God we have the 1986 novel to turn to in times of need, and thankfully Tommy Lee Wallace's telemovie is 95% good and far superior. Now lets not try this again... IT is not a story suitable for the screen... ​

The success of 1999’s The Mummy (directed by Stephen Somers) rebooted the Egyptian horror franchise and catapulted it back into several years of big screen success until Chuck Russell’s woeful 2002 spin-off, The Scorpion King put it back its crypt, where it pretty much lay dormant until 2017 when Universal’s ill-fated Dark Universe attempted to resuscitate it with The Mummy staring Tom Cruise. The result was decidedly underwhelming. So, kudos to Khu and Justin Price for having another crack at the genre (fittingly titled ‘rebirth’) but I’m afraid that kudos doesn’t extend to the result of their well-meaning efforts.

There are many problems with this film, the least of which is its lack of originality. We start with a cheap looking ancient Egypt where, no prizes for guessing, the forbidden love between Sebek (Shamel Hashish) and Reheema (Taylor Carter) ends up in them paying the ultimate price at the hands of the Pharaoh’s henchmen. They are mummified and buried in a crypt for a couple of thousand years until our hero archaeologists, Noah (Carter – he only needs one name apparently) and Daniella (Brittany Goodwin) stumble across the lost city and inadvertently reanimate Sebek who, with the help of a couple of poorly CGI’d hounds from hell, sets out destroy the world whilst trying to find his lost love. Our innocent heroes are, of course, also working for the nefarious Sager (David E Cazares) and his evil henchwoman Dr Dragich (Deanna Grace Congo). If all this sounds a bit familiar and derivative then that’s because it is, which would be fine if the directors were able to give us some good action or even a bit of wit no and then but sadly these things are missing.

What’s also missing from this movie is a big enough budget to properly realise the ideas behind writer Justin Price’s screenplay. The settings all feel very cheap and flimsy and, as already mentioned, the CGI just doesn’t stand up to scrutiny. Add to this a mummy costume that gives you glimpses of the actor’s skin behind the rubber mask and you’ve got too many distractions to keep an audience focused on the action of the narrative.

The performances throughout range from wooden to overplayed and the interminable pauses and stares off into the middle distance between almost every line manage to make a film with a relatively short running time (80 minutes) seem unnecessarily slow-paced, drawn out and stilted.

As the plot unfolds, the creature pursues our heroes out of the archaeological site and into the local museum where they find themselves not only being chased down by the mummy and its hell hounds, but also under attack from Sager’s men. As Noah and Daniella return fire the exhibits and artefacts in the museum become collateral damage with no apparent distress about the destruction of these priceless antiquities from either of our heroes. Similarly, when Sager captures Noah and Daniella and has them brought to his luxurious mansion, he seems to have no qualms about executing one of his hapless men on his expensive carpets or instigating a running gun battle through the house, despite his many works of art and historical objects being destroyed in the process. Add to this a special stone that seems to inexplicably have the power to restore life to the dead and all these things end up contributing to a level of implausibility that permeates both the narrative and the characters.

By the end of the film, the overstretched budget makes a valiant attempt to offer us a sandstorm and a finale that includes a Godzilla-like creature, both of which end up doing little more than adding insult to injury.

Samantha Woodhouse (Nicola Correia-Damude) is a city cop who’s been suffering from depression since the death of her daughter Ashley in a house fire. When her uncle Rupert (Michael Ironside) calls her to let her know that her estranged and terminally ill father is on his last legs, Sam travels back to her hometown of Hellmington to say her farewells. But with his dying breath, Sam’s father whispers the name Katie Owns, a girl who disappeared on prom night nine years ago. In the same moment, Sam thinks she sees a pagan goat-man in the shadows of the corridor outside her father’s hospital room.

These two spooky moments prompt Sam to re-open the old case of the missing girl and, in the process, reopen some of the associated wounds that have lingered since the girl’s disappearance. Against the wishes of her uncle, who happens to be the Chief of Police, but with the help of Abdi Khan (Gabe Grey) who was lead detective on the Katie Owens case, Sam finds herself drawn into the secrets and lies that surround the events of that prom night and strange happenings since that seem linked to an old book of occult practices that include the goat-man, the number nine and a strange symbol that keeps popping up just about everywhere Sam goes.

​There’s some genuine mystery and suspense in this tale that’s working from a strong screenplay written by the co-directors and realised through some nice, underplayed performances by a uniformly talented cast. Correia- Damude finds a cool, remote aloofness in Sam that makes her vulnerable enough for us to care about but abrasive enough not to completely trust. Ironside is also good as the uncle who clearly knows more than he’s letting on. Unlike some movies that attach a ‘known’ genre actor to the cast list to generate some marketing heat, he’s really in this film and gives us a considered performance that makes the most of the handful of scenes he has. What really works for this movie, though, is the depth of character in the many smaller roles that crop up as Sam conducts her unofficial investigation. Most notable amongst these are Allegra Fulton who gives a nicely unhinged performance as Maggie Owen, the mother of the missing girl, and Shannon McDonough who is slightly hilarious as Pat, the motel receptionist who plays against the icy Sam in a couple of scenes that come at just the right time to break the tension of the main story.​

That said, the screenplay is not without its problems. The occult element is well developed in the early part of the film but ultimately doesn’t really lead to as much as you might hope for as the denouement plays out. Likewise, the ‘confession’ that takes us into those final scenes and the revelation of the truth seems to come out of nowhere ending up more as a narrative function than a logical breaking down of a character who can no longer keep the secret in. Perhaps the biggest risk of the narrative, though, is the decision to give us an ending that explains the mystery of the past but doesn’t entirely deliver a satisfying conclusion to the present. I’m in two minds about how I feel about how much we’re left hanging as the credits roll.​Back on the plus side, though, one of the many strengths of this movie is the visually compelling cinematography by Michael Caterina. His photographic style is not just a delight to look at but plays a big part in both the moodiness of the piece and the tension of the more suspenseful elements. This, together with a great soundtrack by indie pop band Cults, along with the performances and the bulk of the writing, elevates this movie beyond its few less successful elements, to be a really solid and at times quite suspenseful mystery.

I wouldn’t exactly say I’m a fan of Anthony C Ferrante’s 2013 TV movie Sharknado but it did make me laugh, mostly for its unashamed embrace of the stupidity of its premise and its commitment to milking every bit of illogicality out of it (can’t really say the same for its five sequels, but that’s another story). Consequently, I was hopeful that a film which references that ridiculous title and inserts clowns where there once were sharks might be worth a look for a bit of ‘it’s so deliberately bad it’s good’ kind of fun. Sadly, that’s not the case. If CLOWNADO thinks it’s a tongue-in-cheek bit of nonsense that’s good for a laugh, it’s sadly mistaken. And if it thinks it’s a serious contender as a horror movie, it’s even more mistaken. The upshot being, it comes across as a film that doesn’t seem to know what it is or what it wants to be which does not auger well for the audience. ​

For a few moments at the start of this film, just after a nicely assembled credit-montage of vintage clown images and just before the horror-clowns arrive, there’s a glimmer of promise as Savana Dane (Rachel Lagen) and her lover, Cash Mahoney (Christopher Preyer) plot to steal money from Savanah’s husband, circus-owner-cum-clown, Big Ronnie (John O’Hara). The dialogue here is arch and heightened with a noirish tinge that’s delivered in a tough-talking, exaggerated accent style with plenty of purple-prose along the lines of “you were all over me like taffy on an August afternoon”. But just when you feel that this movie could have a bit of tongue-in-cheek style to it, the scene dissipates into some over-the-top, unmotivated violence and the next thing you know we’re in a scene that is trying to make us believe that eight characters in a tight shot constitutes a circus crowd while we’re treated to a bit of gratuitous nudity and some soft-torture-porn. And the film goes downhill from there.

​Yes, there’s a thin conceit that sort of explains why this bunch of sociopathic clowns seem to travel by tornado, but no real logic to the fact that Big Ronnie’s revenge on his cheating wife requires his pack of clowns to join in on the dismemberment of Cash’s body in a ridiculous orgy of spurting blood and severed limbs and totally unrealistic gore. Nor is there any real logic as to why the clowns suddenly turn on the whole town in a murderous rampage that seems to consist of repeating variations on the same dismemberment scene over and over with a couple of body-horror augmentations (poor cousins to the kind of thing we admire David Cronenberg for) thrown in for good measure. But that’s not the worst of its crimes-against-the-moviegoer. With all this mayhem and viscera going on, its pace is deathly slow and it takes forever for nothing much to happen.

The remainder of the plot (if you can call it that) is a bit of a muddle and seems mostly designed to string together a series of gory killings accompanied by the soundtrack of mad, maniacally clown laughter. On the plus side, the clown make-up is pretty good, but there’s very little else in the way of characterisation to delineate one from the other (apart from Big Ronnie, of course). In the end, the film ends up with a kind of predatorial hunting of a small band of heroes led by Savanah who, we trust, will ultimately prevail. The climax of the movie involves a pretty poor tornado-versus-plane effect and some pseudo-science that suggests you can kill off a tornado with a canister of liquid nitrogen.​​So, don’t be fooled by the seemingly meta movie title. We might have lucked out with another recent mash-up title for a film called Velocipastor, but that luck didn’t hold long enough to give us the same hilarious experience with Clownado. You’d be better to take shelter in the root-cellar and give this hot mess a miss.

I’ll admit to previously being uninformed when it came to 2018’s Cambridge Analytica scandal. To me, Mark Zuckerberg’s testimony to the U.S. Congress was simply fodder for memes. THE GREAT HACK demonstrates that this kind of indifference has become common, given many of us now share unprecedented levels of personal information online. You probably have some immediate idea of what problems could arise here; sure enough, Facebook estimates consulting firm Cambridge Analytica accessed the data of up to 87 million users without their consent. Like any good piece of investigative journalism, THE GREAT HACK inspires questions of how this was allowed to happen and what changes should be made moving forward. Yet despite compellingly showing why we should care, it falls just short of providing all the details needed for viewers to answer those questions themselves. ​

While the story of Cambridge Analytica is arguably fascinating regardless of who’s telling it, directors Karim Amer and Jehane Noujaim make the wise decision to begin with a profile of David Carroll. Carroll embodies the relentless curiosity THE GREAT HACK seeks to encourage, ultimately suing the firm for failing to disclose what information it had gathered on him. This is cast not only as a simple request, but a basic human right. Subsequently, even people who aren’t tech-savvy will run a full gamut of emotions as the lawsuit progresses towards a bittersweet conclusion. There’s a symbolic victory in the role Carroll played to prove Cambridge Analytica was operating illegally, but it’s hard not to feel like he was screwed over by their bankruptcy filings mere days before a ruling in his favour was reached.​

​After focusing on Carroll throughout the film’s first half, directors Karim Amer and Jehane Noujaim turn their attention to former high-ranking Cambridge Analytica employee Brittany Kaiser in the second. It’s a smart choice which builds viewer investment in personal data rights before presenting the clearest portrait of how these rights are being challenged. By recounting the firm’s origins assisting military and political campaigns, we see a clear evolution from broad guerrilla tactics into targeted ads, customised to individual Facebook users based on data profiles. Most harrowingly, Kaiser herself likens these profiles to psychological warfare.

THE GREAT HACK seems to suggest that because this technology is still relatively new, each of us must actively form an opinion on its boundaries. However, the film doesn’t explicitly deal with this idea enough, which is frustrating since some of its subjects have clearly done so. For instance, Kaiser appears genuinely remorseful for her actions and is unwilling to even reveal her location during some interviews, yet Amer and Noujaim never explore whether her actions, or those of her colleague turned fellow whistle-blower Christopher Wylie, should be considered crimes. If they currently aren’t, is it simply because the law is lagging behind society? Beyond the broad concept of ‘owning one’s data’, there is very little consideration for what actions we must take.​I imagine this film’s shortcomings are the result of trying to handle such a recent event. There’s lots for Amer and Noujaim to balance between factually chronicling the scandal with its subjects’ insights, all of which are handled well notwithstanding their limited scope. For viewers like me who come into THE GREAT HACK without much of an understanding of Cambridge Analytica, it’s a great introduction and addictive viewing in general, even though it won’t fully satisfy your interest on its own.

Gerard Butler returns as secret service agent Mike Banning in ANGEL HAS FALLEN, the third instalment in what is now dubbed the “Fallen Trilogy”, which follows the patriotic action blockbusters Olympus Has Fallen and London Has Fallen.

Banning suffers the same hex as John McClain from Die Hard, as the same shit happens to the same guy twice... er thrice. Where the first instalment saw the White House fall to international terrorists, the second upped the ante by having the entire city of London reduced to rubble. With no room left to expand on that escalating theme ANGEL HAS FALLEN reels things back in and settles for a smaller story with Banning falsely accused of killing fellow servicemen and the attempted murder on the president (Morgan Freeman).
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​This franchise panders to action fans who revel in violent far-fetched nonsense, making no apologies for its cheap thrills and explosive gratuity. Where certain cinephiles will dismiss it as trash, others will celebrate its sense of frivolity. Being a sucker for brainless action myself, I definitely fit within its target demographic.

With a significantly smaller budget of $40-million (compared to London's $60-million and Olympus' $70-mill) ANGEL HAS FALLEN's restraints are immediately evident. There is a definite modesty to the new instalment with the big action centrepieces being replaced by a formulaic man-on-the-run synopsis. To counteract the budget cut, Butler's character is written to be a burned-out father whose age and weariness threatens to end his career. He is no longer the actioneer we once knew, and his newly appointed fugitive status allows him to avoid massive fight sequences and high-concept action... for the most part. Of course there IS plenty of action to keep 'em keen, but to a lesser degree.

​Some other consequences of the smaller budget include a few poorly executed green screen moments and a dependancy on poor dramatic character arcs, however, with a cache of nifty Bond-esque tropes the film manages to tread water without sinking. A cool drone attack early into the story sets the tone of the film and, while this sequence is admittedly ludicrous, it preps the viewer for a new direction to the series.

Butler is a seasoned pro when it comes to this brand of conservative-leaning action and he relishes every punch with absolute glee. Despite his age affecting his physical limits, he gives all that he's got to make Mike Banning a bonafide action-movie legend. Freeman, who is now 82-years old, returns to the series as the POTUS, replacing Aaron Eckhart from the previous instalments. Whether or not Eckhart was invited back, his absence plays to the movie's strength as Freeman offers greater depth and humanity. Although clearly an old man, Freeman's capabilities on screen are no barrier for his commitment to physicality and sincerity.

New additions to the cast include Danny Houston as Mike's former ranger teammate and owner of a private military contractor, and Nick Nolte as his estranged forrest-dwelling hermit father. Both are welcome newcomers to the series with each of them serving the story with an abundance of cliches and obvious tropes. Jada Pinkett Smith also co-stars as the FBI manhunter hot on the trail of Banning. They are all about as conventional and predictable as it gets... but intentionally so.

When it comes to this brand of movie we expect a good time but not a whole lot of substance or integrity. It is easily the lesser of the three films in terms of quality and bravado, but it's probably the most fun of the lot as far as I'm concerned. There's been three years between each instalment since the first movie arrived in 2013 and whether or not we can expect another one in 2022 remains to be seen. With Banning's body giving up on him, perhaps we'll enter the cyber-bionic phase... or maybe he'll call the shots from mission control... it's a stupid series and anything's possible. Fans of Olympus and London Has Fallen need only apply. ​
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It has been precisely 40-years since the theatrical release of Francis Ford Coppola's Vietnam war masterpiece APOCALYPSE NOW and to celebrate, the legendary director has returned for yet another pass and delivered what he considers to be his ultimate vision; THE FINAL CUT.

This of course follows his Redux cut back in 2000 when he added 50-minutes of new footage, which – evidently - was not his true vision after all. And so now with the advent of 4K resolution Coppola has returned to the well and fixed what he thought he got wrong, bringing his truest version of the film to audiences. There is no doubt that it feels like an unnecessary indulgence, but at 80-years of age, who are we to say what he can or can't do?​​

Whichever way you cut it APOCALYPSE NOW is a stroke of genius.​Working on the assumption that you are familiar with either previous cut of the film I will skip the part where I lay out the synopsis, except to say that the film is quite possibly the greatest sentiment of the Vietnam War ever put to film. As any one of the versions attests, it isn't so much a realistic portrayal of the conflict itself (although it feels so) but rather a concise charter of the psychological trauma and the culture surrounding it. It is very much a perpetual descent into madness manifested in a surreal and nightmarish experiment of storytelling.

THE FINAL CUT removes 20 minutes from the Redux cut, making for a trimmer 3-hour narrative with less lag. One - of two major sequences - which Coppola added in 2000 has been removed again; it being a second encounter with the Playboy Bunnies. It was an ineffective addition in the first place and the story benefits without it. The other sequence features a visit to a French plantation whereby Martin Sheen's character, Captain Benjamin Willard, spends an evening with a large family who refuse to leave their acreage, which has been under threat throughout the conflict. The sequence in of itself is fantastic, however within the context of APOCALYPSE NOW it serves as dead weight. The sequence lacks subtlety and feels politically motivated, and it undermines the overall sense of nuance and suggestion that the rest of the film embodies.

​Other notable changes include extended sequences involving Robert Duvall's surf-obsessed Lieutenant Colonel Bill Kilgore and longer monologues from Marlon Brando's psychotic Colonel Kurtz. Again, these are fantastic scenes in their own right, but ultimately serve little purpose. Were they to be confined to supplementary material on a home-entertainment release then they would hold immense value, but in terms of serving an 'ultimate cut' they are simply a filmmaker's self-gratification.

Irrespective of my personal grievances, APOCALYPSE NOW: THE FINAL CUT is a sight to behold. It has never looked and sounded better, and it gives cause for audiences to see it again on the big screen. Whether you watch the theatrical version, the Redux or the Final Cut, you will witness one of cinema's finest achievements; an audacious and visionary cinematic masterclass, and an unrivalled visceral experience. A tour de force of music, psychedelia and violence featuring an ensemble of Hollywood titans.

For argument sake lets call it a trilogy... 3 cuts... 3 visions... 3 films.... each being powerful, and each with their own story to unpack. For what it's worth I will always preference the original 147-minute theatrical cut, but I will always watch whichever one you want to offer me. ​

Tim Burton's Batman set the new bar for comic book movie adaptations in 1989 and no subsequent superhero film was ever able to reach it. While there were certainly good comic-book titles during that era (like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and The Rocketeer), none possessed that wonderful sound-stage aesthetic that Burton conjured. Warren Beatty's Dick Tracy ('90) made a valiant yet erroneous attempt to match Batman's texture but only Russell Mulcahy's THE SHADOW gave it a solid run for its money.

​Based on a comic-book of the same name from the 1930s, THE SHADOW tells the story of an American drug lord in Tibet, who is captured by mystical servants of Tulku - an ancient holy man wizard - and cursed to serve humanity as a force for good. After years of training in a Buddist temple the former criminal earns himself the power to mind-read, hypnotise and distort perception, and conceals his identify with invisibility. Returning to New York City in the 1930s The Shadow (real name Lamont Cranston - Alec Baldwin) serves the city as its lone crusader, ridding the streets of criminals and mob rule. When a former student of Tulku arrives to the city inside the sarcophagus of Genghis Khan, The Shadow must defeat him before a mystical army is raised.

Despite the character's origins and previous 1937 radio incarnation by Orson Welles, the 1994 film marches to the beat of its own drum, owing gratitude to Burton's influence while leaning heavily on the Asian-infused fantasy films of the time. The result is a delicious visceral treat that plays out like a cross between Burton and John Carpenter (Big Trouble in Little China comes to mind).​

​Director Russell Mulcahy is – in my estimation – one of the most overlooked and underutilised director's in Hollywood. A home-grown talent, he began his career directing some of the biggest music videos in the world (Elton John, Duran Duran etc) before making his impressive feature debut with the cult favourite Razorback. He would go on to make classics such as Highlander, Richochet and The Real McCoy before finding himself assigned to second-rate fodder like Tales of the Mummy and Silent Trigger. Amongst all of that he made THE SHADOW, his boldest and most impressive production to date. And how criminally underrated it is. Boasting a phenomenal production design – shot entirely on studio backlots and sound stages – the film leaps off the screen with it's vivid imagery. Richly textured city street-scapes and immaculate cinematography are accompanied by a sensational musical score by Jerry Goldsmith. The result is a film that eluded its audience upon release but found them throughout the years, earning itself a well-deserved cult status.

The film was written by David Koepp during the most prolific time of his career having penned films like Jurassic Park, Carlito's Way and Mission Impossible within the span of three years. THE SHADOW, it must be said however, is one of his weakest scripts, lacking the depth and character development of some of its contemporaries. Obviously better writing may have elevated it to respectable heights at the time, but the fundamental strength of the film is in its look and aesthetic. As with most of Mulcahy's work, the style IS its substance.

In the film Alec Baldwin makes for an unlikely superhero and delivers a reliable turn, and while there is something not-quite-right about him in the role, his charisma and handsome charm lend an endearing quality to the proceedings. The supporting cast includes Penelope Ann Miller, Peter Boyle, Ian McKellen, Jonathan Winters, Tim Curry and John Lone (and what Asian-infused adventure movie of the 90s would be complete without the stereotyped character actors James Hong and Al Leong?). It is an impressive cast which retrospectively brings comfort and nostalgia to the film.

Films like THE SHADOW don't get made any more so do yourself the favour and track it down. Relive its delicious production design and feel the energy of Goldsmith's score. It holds up incredibly well and deserves a revisit. ​

Directors/writers Adam B. Stein and Zach Lipovsky have created a film that is so multilayered that I am legitimately mystified over how to review it. It’s the everlasting gobstopper effect, where new flavours are revealed in every other scene, each one more tasty than the last, until you reach that delicious fizzy reward at the end. In fact their film is so heavily paved with revelations that I have already resorted to candy metaphors to avoid inevitable spoilers.
​Freaks tells the story of 8-year-old Chloe (Lexy Kolker) and her dad (Emile Hirsch), who live in squalor in a decrepit boarded-up house at a time when the world is in a state of unrest. Television news reports in the background inform us that a major event took place 10 years ago, and that a significant portion of the population has become dangerous. Chloe has spent her entire life in hiding, unsure whether her dad’s reasons are real or fabricated. Meanwhile, an old ice-cream man, Mr. Snowcone (Bruce Dern), sits outside their house trying to lure Chloe to his truck.

I usually begin reviews by focusing on the positives before addressing whatever negatives a film has to offer. But in the case of Quentin Tarantino's ninth film ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD, I am going to nitpick at some negatives first. I've been a fan of his from the start and since sneaking into cinemas to see Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction on the big screen in the early and mid 90s I have caught all of his films theatrically. Suffice to say that his releases have become events for me.​

The first notable problem with ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD is that the soundtrack fails to pop the way we have come to expect from a Tarantino film. Of course the soundtrack is very evident and it informs much of the story, however the songs don't feel as carefully selected or as thoughtfully placed. Perhaps this is a symptom of having only seen the film once (maybe a premature judgement on my part). The film is in every sense a reversion to his earlier work, calling upon strong pop cultural references to drive its narrative, which is certainly cut from the same cloth as Pulp Fiction and Jackie Brown, and where those films boasted an immediately arresting collection of songs, HOLLYWOOD isn't as hit-laden or ear-wiggy.

Other issues include an immodest amount of self-indulgence, unnecessary cameos and grading monologues. With its 1960's Hollywood setting, the scene is set for an eruption of Tarantino-gasms, and we wouldn't expect anything less, however he has indulged himself so much so that the average movie-goer will inevitably disengage from it's endless in-jokes, geeky film-speak and pop cultural intricacies. Suffice to say this is not as accessible as QT's previous work, but....

… it is definitely his BEST work since Jackie Brown. As a filmie with a decent grasp of film history and pop culture, I felt a kinship with the man and appreciated him speaking so deeply to a movie-lover like myself. I admit that I struggled at first. The first act is a slow burn and a meandering series of seemingly trivial encounters had me worried that he might not be able to push through his own hedonism. And then one important scene at the infamous Spahn Movie Ranch flips the story on its head and sends the film barrelling ahead at a million miles per hour, giving retrospective relevance to what had transpired previously.

Inspired by the real life partnership of Burt Reynolds and his stunt double Hal Needham (director of Smokey and the Bandit and Cannonball Run) the film tells the story of Hollywood actor Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his stunt double Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt) who find themselves navigating second-rate television guest appearances and lead roles in foreign films. Work is drying up and Dalton's fame is on the decline when a snappy movie producer, Marvin Schwarz (Al Pacino) offers some sage words of advice and points him in the right direction. Dalton also happens to live next door to world-renowned director Roman Polanski and his actress wife Sharon Tate (Margot Robbee) and when Booth's path coincidentally crosses with the Manson Family, the clock starts ticking down towards an inevitable climax on that most infamous night on Ceilo Drive.

This is a film jam-packed with surprises and I wouldn't dare reveal any of those tasty treats for you. What I will say is that Tarantino has captured the 1960's era with precision and filled his frame with absolute nostalgia. DiCaprio and Pitt both deliver what I will argue are the best performances of their respective careers, without any sense of rivalry or competitiveness. Each knows how good the other is and the camaraderie is strong. Robbie is a great addition to the cast as Sharon Tate, giving a mostly muted performance that relies on her character's sense of Hollywood wonderment. She gives a fabulous turn, with one particular scene in a movie-theatre (watching the real Sharon Tate on screen) serving as once of the films stand-out moments.

The cameos, while excessive, are generally good. Few of them grace the screen for longer than a minute but they all fit the bill nevertheless. Pacino does Pacino and Kurt Russell does Kurt Russell, while folks like Bruce Dern, Zoe Bell, Dekota Fanning, Luke Perry and Clifton Collins Jr contribute to a colossal ensemble of blink-and-you'll-miss-em players. Timothy Olyphant and Emile Hirsch are given slightly more screen time and it's great to see Hirsch back in the game following an unfortunate assault charge and subsequent blacklisting from Hollywood.

Some detractors have recently condemned Tarantino's supposed obsession with violence against women, to which needs addressing. I would argue that the number of men brutalised and killed throughout the course of his career far outweighs the number of women, and that those female characters he has subjected to extreme violence (The Bride in Kill Bill, Daisy Domergue in The Hateful 8 and the ladies of Death Proof... not to mention Alabama from True Romance) have turned said violence against their attackers. I would also argue that Tarantino writes strong female characters in his films and that his brand of filmmaking derives from an era of exploitation. We tend not to care when men are pulverised, mutilated and executed in QT's stories, and yet when women are hurt and then empowered it's outrageous and unacceptable. Give me a break! As for the specific violence against the women in ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD... it's contextually satisfying and entirely justified. If you disagree then you need to reevaluate your own moral code. To go into specifics would be to ruin the fun and reveal too much...

ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD is a return to that urban sensibility that put Tarantino on the map. It is also ambitious and gratuitous and all things that make him a cult figure. Were it not for the aforementioned foibles earlier in this review I would be inclined to declare the film an instant classic. It comes damn near close to being a perfect film, and yet misses the mark thanks to self indulgence and a stronger than usual overriding sense of egotism. ​

David Gutierrez (Gonzalo Trigueros) has had a hard and difficult life since he was a little boy (Jesse Ray Sheps). His mother, Mariah (Natasha Strang) struggles with her mental health, exacerbated by David’s abusive, violent and occasionally absent father, Ralph (Tom Ashton). As a boy, David does his best to defend his mother and protect his little sister Gabriella (Caitlyn Stellwagen) but to no avail. His mother’s mental state deteriorates, and his sister dies tragically, in a way that David blames himself for. At school, he’s mostly on the outer except with his friend Benny (Kobi Frumer) who encourages David to try out for the school’s talent show. It’s here that he gets his first taste for what will become his outlet; a fledgling career in stand-up comedy.

This is writer/director Oliver Mann’s feature debut and he proves, right off the bat, that he can not only create a complex and harrowing story populated by emotionally complicated characters, but that he can handle the out-of-order storytelling style he’s opted for in a way that feels like so much more than just a present-day story with a series of flashbacks. The story of older David who escapes his father by moving from New York to LA to have a crack at professional stand-up and the story of younger David who witnesses the domestic violence the father brings down on his family are told in a way where they hold equal weight and continually collide creating the sparks that enliven the movie and provide us with a tale where one-plus-one equals more than two. Likewise, the secondary stories of David’s troubled girlfriend Marcella (Wilma Rivera) and Robert, the friend that tries to help him out only to get him deeper into trouble, provide a depth and texture to the overall narrative that account for an authenticity and grittiness that is, perhaps, surprising for a first feature.

​Mann’s work as director is well supported by Sachi Bahra’s strong cinematography and a lilting, sometimes haunting score from Kelli Sae. Performances are strong all ’round with Trigueros a standout in the role of David who navigates his way through the perilous waters of this story and makes a pretty good fist of his comedy club routines. There’s a droll humour to David’s act that might not have them rolling in the aisles but serves the story well in terms of the reflective nature of his humour. As the father, Ashton is believable and frightening, more for the psychological side of his abuse than for the physical. Strang, as the fragile mother trying to hold things together in the face of impossible odds, finds just the right amount of pathos as she loses her grip on reality. And, then, of course, there’s Rivera, with a terrific performance as the damaged Marcella who finds the sweet spot between vulnerable and dangerous that David finds himself drawn to.

The idea that a stand-up comedian’s funny stuff comes from a place of pain and darkness might be a cliché, but Oliver Mann’s screenplay and his realisation of it onto the big screen is anything but cliched in its explorations of his central character’s struggled with the harder sides of life, and his escape through making other people laugh. The dream-like final sequence might not entirely work as a denouement to the complex story (there’s a bit of voice over that suggests a lack of confidence in the imagery to do the job) but it leaves us in no doubt that for all the hope in the world that might bring a story like this to a close, there is still no escaping the dark undercurrents that we bring along with us from the choices we make in our difficult lives. ​

The only thing better than finding something you’re passionate about is finding people who share that passion. Such is the message of THE BROMLEY BOYS, an adaptation of Dave Roberts’ book of the same name chronicling his time supporting a local soccer club. While Bromley F.C. will likely never be the most well-known or successful team in England, for Dave and other longtime fansit’s a crucial lens for seeing the world. If it sounds a little hyperbolic, just think about the interests and hobbies that have shaped your life choices. Coupled with this relatable truth, THE BROMLEY BOYS is also content to be a low-stakes affair, allowing its cast of relative unknowns to spout one-liners through increasingly wacky scenes. The result is a charming, thoroughly enjoyable film that’s an easy recommendation for viewers looking to relax.

Making Dave’s teenage self (Brenock O’Connor) the lead is one of the biggest reasons this film pulls off its breezy tone. O’Connor finds just the right balance for depicting Dave’s Bromley-centric worldview, ensuring he conveys the awkwardness of youth without verging into naivete. Rather, his arc is cast as a classic coming-of-age journey, as we watch Dave’s confidence and ability to express himself grow by making friends through the club. Considering most viewers will probably recognise O’Connor from his time on Game of Thrones, it’s a pleasant surprise to see him simply have fun and show his range.

While some of the supporting cast suffer from a lack of material, the few who are given ample opportunity to share scenes with O’Connor are just as entertaining. I was particularly impressed by Jamie Foreman as Bromley owner Charlie McQueen, a character who initially comes across as a one-dimensional villain with no regard for Dave and other fans. McQueen’s perspective is ultimately revealed in the third act, but he’s a welcome presence long before then thanks to Foreman’s exaggerated, flustered delivery and comedic timing. Savannah Baker shows a similar talent as McQueen’s daughter Ruby, though using her primarily for a forced romantic subplot felt like wasted potential. However, this pales in comparison to the underdeveloped roles given to Alan Davies and Martine McCutcheon, two demonstrably funny people, who play Dave’s parents yet are barely seen.

​Meanwhile, the film’s 1960s setting is captured perfectly, with the production’s warm and nostalgic approach serving as an ideal complement for the script’s tone. British filmmakers always seem to nail the technical aspects of period pieces and THE BROMLEY BOYS is no exception. From obvious era-appropriate details like the club’s uniforms and equipment, to locations such as the McQueens’ house which are only seen briefly, there’s a sense that the designers look back on the decade with as much fondness as Dave himself. For instance, Dave’s bedroom is filled with Bromley memorabilia both official and handmade, quaint yet specific flourishes emblematic of how easy it is to immerse yourself and simply enjoy the film’s world.

Unfortunately, the film’s story is the only element where it disappoints, struggling to provide an interesting catalyst for the characters and jokes. This is hardly a golden rule for comedy, since there have been plenty of successful films where nothing substantial happens (see Clerks). Yet in the case of THE BROMLEY BOYS, the plot which ultimately emerges is contrived and wafer-thin. Essentially, Dave finds evidence suggesting the club’s best player is being transferred, only for the rumour he inadvertently starts to snowball in unbelievable ways. Likewise, the quasi-twist used to raise the stakes in the third act requires a huge suspension of disbelief and makes Dave look recklessly inconsiderate.

Thankfully, the rest of the film makes such a strong impression that my issues with its story can be overlooked. THE BROMLEY BOYS is plain and simple fun, suitable for anyone who can relate to passionate fandom, or viewers who just want to switch off and laugh.​

First up, don’t be fooled by any promotional material you see claiming that this film stars Lance Henriksen of Aliens and Terminator fame. His ‘star’ turn as Manny, the railway boss is in the category of ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ and it overshadows those actors who actually have the starring roles and, for the most part, do a pretty good job of it. That said, this is a tricky movie to pin down in terms of its genre, its tone or even its storyline. But let me have a crack at it.

It’s Halloween and a bunch of people in Halloween costumes are milling around in a party mood at an old railway station with a few old steam trains lined up and ready to go. One of the trains is designated as the ‘Murder Mystery Train’ and out of the steam emerges a different group of characters in period costume all lined up and ready to enjoy a night of role-play and mystery solving... or so it seems. As they prepare to board there’s a strange moment between the group in period costumes and the group in Halloween costumes. But what does it mean? You’ll have to wait for the end of the film to find out.

In the meantime, enter The Host (Frank Lammers) a larger than life character in top hat and mourning coat who chews up the scenery as he welcomes the guests aboard and introduces them one by one with a vaguely threatening overtone revealing truths and secrets about each in turn. Most of our key characters, it seems, don’t really want to be here. Evelyn (Carter Scott) is only here because her friend is one of the actors in the ‘show’. Thomas (Everette Wallin) is only here because he promised his brother he’d come. Eugene (Logan Coffey) is representing his cosmetics company who provide the make-up for the actors. This is his fourteenth time on board and he’s pretty blasé about it. The only one who really wants to be here is young rich kid, Abigail (Shae Smolik) whose parents have sent her along with chaperone, Antonia (Leticia LaBelle) who is the most reluctant participant of all.

​The Host has barely finished his introduction when the ‘murder’ takes place. But wait, something’s not right. Turns out it’s a real murder and then, before we know it, there’s a robbery taking place and then, before we’ve got our heads around that, the train takes a bend going too fast and comes off the rails, plunging into a deep river. Now our heroes are stranded in a slowly submerging carriage (looking like a scene from The Titanic) but when one of the show’s characters, Marcus (Daniel O’Reilly) tries to swim to shore, he’s pulled under (like a scene out of Jaws) by some weird looking monster that’s a cross between the double-jawed Alien, the Demogorgon (from Stranger Things) and the Creature From the Black Lagoon. So now it’s a monster movie and our heroes are being picked off one by one.

In theory, there’s no reason why this rapid shift of genres and styles can’t work, and, to a certain extent, there are moments in this film when it works really well. But those moments don’t coalesce into a satisfying whole. Partly it’s a problem of tone. There are moments that feel like the campiness and heightened reality is intentional and that we should be finding this darkly comical if not, at times, hilarious. But there are other moments where it feels like it wants to be a horror film and that we should be on the edge of our seats. The upshot is that D-RAILED sits uncomfortably on the fence between both those possibilities leaving the audience (or, at least, me) feeling quite uncertain about what it is we’re watching.

​What keeps it afloat (excuse the pun) are some strong performances, especially by Scott who carries the narrative and is quite compelling on screen. She somehow seems to navigate her way through the story giving us a sense that she knows what this is meant to be, even if we’re not one hundred percent sure. I can’t really talk about the film’s ending, other than to say that there’s quite a twist waiting for us in the final scenes that shifts gears yet again and attempts to provide an explanation for what we’ve been watching for the past eighty or so minutes. For me, the ending is a bit of a let down in terms of how it contextualises the overall story. Nevertheless, there’s plenty of fun to be had along the way if you’re willing to go with the flow and to view the story through something less than a critical eye.​